The Value of a Friend
by kei-angelus
Summary: My version of House's thoughts about his conversation with Nolan in the episode 20 of Season 6. After all, it really was about Wilson.


**Author's Note : Hi again :) Really, this show is so amazing that it inspired me to write 3 times in only 2 months. Anyway, I'm now in the middle of season 8 and already found out that Wilson was going to have cancer :( Now it kind of terrifies me to continue, lol**  
 **Anyway, this one is short. I just really had to write it and share it with you guys :) Big thanks to everyone who has reviewed, liked, and read my earlier stories :D Also to Visitkarte & Nyokiee for the encouragement :)  
As usual, reviews mean a lot to me :)  
**

Yeah. Of course he wanted me to leave.

Because everybody would always want me to leave after everything in their lives finally worked.

And really, I just had to had Nolan talking to me to finally said it out loud. Because Nolan wouldn't be affected by it. He would not want me to _leave_ just because I was miserable, he just wanted to find out what was wrong with me. As always. And for now, I just didn't know if Wilson would not leave too.

I had avoided him just because I didn't want him to try to talk to me again. I didn't want him to ask me again if I was really okay with going back to my apartment. Because I might have told him that I _really_ was not okay with it. Or I might have told him that I really was okay, but he might have found out that I felt the opposite.

Nolan said that Wilson was putting Sam before me. But how couldn't he? He had wanted me almost dead to save Amber, so what was so wrong about kicking me out of his apartment?

Nolan was right when he said that what I had with Wilson was the closest thing I had to a safe relationship, but still, it hurt when _he_ really was the one who wanted me to move out—not Sam. I started to like our new apartment, you know—including the piano he had gotten me. Though I already had expected it, it _still_ hurt. Though I was sure that he would break up with her again, I couldn't stand not _feeling_ hurt.

 _Cuddy_.

Yeah, I had always liked her.

But what really bothered me today wasn't her. "It's not about Wilson," I had said. I wondered if Nolan ever noticed that I said it too fast. Because it _was_ really about him.

Liking Cuddy wouldn't bother me as long as Wilson was with me. Because he would be there if something happened. Every argue I had with Cuddy, he would be standing in the middle of us. And just like when he had found out that I once had told Cuddy that I had always been interested in her, he would be with me to somehow comfort me to be able to deal with the rejection. Now that he wasn't around anymore, liking Cuddy started to become a _bigger_ problem.

I had never talked to Wilson about this, because as soon as I went home, I would just spend some time with him and felt better. He sometimes just understood, too. Sometimes we would sit in front of our TV, drinking beer and watching some whatever-crap-being-on, then when it was late, we would say good night to each other and went to our rooms, and I would fell asleep, feeling better. And the next morning, we would act like nothing had happened.

But now that I was back to my apartment, I just knew that I would feel like crap. I would sit in front of my TV, watch whatever-crap-being-on, drink some bottles of beer, but I would be _alone_.

Maybe he wouldn't be gone, but he wouldn't be there, too. He wouldn't be there after a crappy day at the hospital. He wouldn't be there after a tough case. He wouldn't be there after I drowned myself in alcohol. Because he would be somewhere else. With Sam. Because he had a life—while mine was always stuck around _him_. And I knew that I would miss him. Coz I would _need_ him and he wouldn't be there anymore.

Maybe that was why I had let Alvie stayed in my apartment. At least I wouldn't have gotten bored. He had been a great distraction. But see? He left _too_ after I had saved him. I was just trying to express that I really had considered him as a _friend_.

This so-called-messed-up-friendship with Wilson wasn't the best I could do. But he was the best I could _get_. Because he _stayed_. It wasn't because what I had done for him—let alone _to_ him, but in fact, he was the only one who would be willing to call me as his best friend after all of those. Sometimes, I even wondered how he could do that— _I_ wouldn't friend _me_. Because until now, deep down I still believed that he would still come if I called—though I knew that I had disappointed him too many times.

Wilson was not a consolation prize. He was _the best gift_ I could _ever_ get in my life, for even doing nothing good in particular. And that was what I valued in him.


End file.
